Hands
by theElsker
Summary: Of nightmares and hand holding


They started not long after Doc pulled the bullet from her head.

She didn't realize how bad it had gotten until Cass forced her to see Arcade after her screams woke Cass for the sixth time. Arcade prescribed meds.

She didn't take any.

The meds rolled around her pack bag for weeks. Instead she stopped sleeping. She took first watch at night and pretended to sleep during the second one. Only after they walked for miles in the heat of the Mojave was she finally able to close her eyes from sheer exhaustion. It was only darkness then.

She hid the dark circles with a paste she bought in Freeside. It did the job well enough.

They were the same each time she slept. The dark figures standing over her and the loud _crack_ before a pain so deep she could hardly breathe.

Veronica wanted her to talk about it.

But only when she was by herself did she touch the side of her head, feeling the scared skin under her fingertips. It was ugly. In a bathroom in the Lucky 38, she had lifted her hair and stared at it in what was left of the mirror above the sink. It had not healed well. She did her best to keep it covered and sometimes, when people didn't notice it, she even forgot it was there.

The others asked questions when they found out about the injury. But she didn't know how to answer most of them. And refused to answer the important ones. The ones that showed they cared.

She liked Boone.

He didn't ask any questions. Sometimes they sat at the kitchen table together without saying a word. Sometimes she sought him out just so she could make sure he was still there. Just close enough that she could see him from the corner of her eye.

After a while, sometimes he would come to find her.

They never spoke. At least not about things that mattered. The weather never changed much on the Strip and there were only so many times one could remark on the climate.

They were just outside Boulder City when she touches him for the first time. They lay near each other, underneath the looming edge of a cliff. She's still awake, and she can hear his heavy breathing above the sound of nearby crickets. One moment she is staring up at the stars and the next Boone is shaking, mumbling something in his sleep.

She doesn't know what to do.

Cass usually woke her, shaking her so suddenly she wanted to retch in the other girl's lap.

Instead she reaches out and touches the very edge of his hand. His skin is cold. Eventually her smallest finger finds his and they weave together. She's trembling, or maybe it's still him, and it's near a quarter of an hour before he's quiet again.

He wakes and it's only an hour later and her arm is cold, but his hand isn't anymore.

Boone eventually extracts his hand from hers and stands. Rex comes around minutes later, his tongue swiping across her cheek.

They don't say anything about it.

It happens each night after. She pretends to sleep during the first watch and holds hand during the second.

At first she thinks maybe he doesn't know about the nightmares. That he might think holding his hand during the night is for her. It is, in a way. But he must see the shadows under his own eyes. So dark that for an absurd moment it reminds her of the eye makeup smeared on the women on the Strip.

It gets easier. To reach out and grasp his hand, to feel callouses and cuts on his palm. Sometimes he grips her hand and she can't feel afterwards, but she doesn't mind.

Sometimes she wonders what it is. NCR. Dead wife. Dead unborn child.

On the eighth night she falls asleep as soon as she lies down.

She wakes with blood in her mouth and Rex whining in her ear. Everything hurts and something is holding her so tightly she begins to thrash around.

But it's only Boone. His arm is wrapped around her stomach and his hand is at her jaw forcing it open. He's yelling something and she listens, spitting the blood into the dirt. Her tongue and lips ache and her shirt is stained red.

He takes both watches that night. She pretends to sleep and she can feel his eyes on her the whole time. He's angry and she can't think of anything to say. He knows she hasn't been sleeping. And now he knows what happens when she does.

"Talk." He says the next night.

Rex curls himself at her feet.

She picks at the molerat meat and tosses Rex a chunk, watching him swallow it down in seconds. She meets Boone's gaze for three seconds, then tugs at the laces of her boots.

"No."

"It wasn't a question."

She feels a flicker of anger and frustration. It is minutes before she lifts her eyes to meet his glare.

"You first."

"I'm not the one spitting out blood." He pauses. "Or refusing to take the medicine from Arcade."

"Did he give you medicine, too?"

"We're not talking about that."

"We could."

His jaw tenses. "You woke up choking on your own blood."

She looks away. Rex crawls over and rests his head in her lap. She rubs her hand through his fur and he licks her fingers. Boone is still looking at her and suddenly she feels so tired.

So she tells him.

He doesn't say anything when she finishes.

But in the dark when they lay down and the fire burns low, he is the one who reaches for her hand.


End file.
